


White Noise

by M_Monoceros, oliviathecf



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Ellibot, Incest, M/M, Mild Daddy Kink, Pure Smut, Red Wheelbarrow, it's cozy, join us in hell, prison shower sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-07 06:52:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8787961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Monoceros/pseuds/M_Monoceros, https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliviathecf/pseuds/oliviathecf
Summary: Of all the stupid prison clichés…





	

Elliot steps into the shower, trying with all his might to ignore the fact that Mr. Robot has decided to join him. 

_Normalize,_ he tells himself; _don’t let him get to you._ But that’s kind of difficult when the hallucination of your dead father is standing behind you, naked and humming 80s pop tunes, moaning about how long it’s been since he last had a shower, and the stall is so small and cramped that Elliot can feel the heat coming off of his body.

He keeps his head down and focuses on the water. He wishes he could turn up the temperature, but that’s not really an option unless he wants to use up all the hot water in less than thirty seconds. Without thinking he turns to reach for the soap behind him, then pauses.

Shit.

Mr. Robot is in the way, and he’s not moving—just standing there, smirking at him. Elliot fights the urge to roll his eyes. _Of all the stupid prison clichés…_

But damn it, he’s not letting Mr. Robot win this one, too.

Somehow, Mr. Robot is standing even closer when he turns around, even though Elliot didn’t see him move. The smirk is gone, though, and for once he actually looks pretty serious.

Elliot meets his eyes furiously. He can’t look away; doesn’t want to look down. The hatred he feels for Mr. Robot—this man, this delusion, this _thing_ —is overwhelming. He wants to punch him, or throw him to the ground. At the same time… 

_Shit._ Elliot feel himself getting harder under Mr. Robot’s gaze.

Like everything with Mr. Robot, it’s a standoff. He’s staring at Elliot like he wants to devour him—fuck, why does that make him even harder?—and there’s no way he’s going to move. Eventually, Elliot has to step forward.

He reaches around Mr. Robot carefully and grabs the soap, glaring up at him in defiance. The asshole is clearly disappointed, Elliot thinks with smug satisfaction. He turns back around, but as soon as he does Mr. Robot is beside him, all pretence lost as he lets loose, whispering right in Elliot’s ear about what a fucking slut he is, how stupid he has to be to have turned himself in, and _gang rape in the laundry room must be what does it for you, huh?_ He’s going on and on about how he can hear Elliot jerking off at night, how he knows what Elliot wants—

Elliot feels dizzy. He can’t tell if it’s his own hands or Mr. Robot’s on his body, and he has to stop moving just to breath, turning his face into the stream of water in an attempt to drown out Mr. Robot’s voice. He’s practically shaking with some fucked up combination of rage and arousal and then the world goes black.

When he comes to, his own hand is on his cock and Mr. Robot is laughing at him. _Dirty trick,_ Elliot thinks, but now that he’s jerking himself off, it’s difficult to stop.

Mr. Robot keeps talking, keeps whispering in his ear, egging him on, and then his hands really are on Elliot, sliding greedily over his wet skin, teasing him, touching him everywhere but his cock. So Elliot keeps jerking himself off, glaring at Mr. Robot. And of course Mr. Robot starts stroking himself too, leaning against the dirty tile in front of Elliot like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

There’s another flash of black—like someone flicked the lights off and then on again—and then their places are reversed; in one smooth movement Mr. Robot lifts him up and slams him against the wall, wrapping Elliot’s legs around his waist and kissing him hard.

Elliot is too fucked up and desperate to bother fighting him off, so he kisses back as hard as he can, trying to bite him—to hurt him—clawing at his scalp, pulling at his sopping hair. But Mr. Robot only laughs against his mouth, because that’s exactly what he wants.

Mr. Robot’s hands are occupied, so Elliot reaches down and grabs both of their cocks, jerking them together as best he can. He only gets a few pumps in before Mr. Robot pulls his hand away and pins it to the wall.

“You’re not in control here,” he hisses before kissing Elliot once more.

But of course, he still wants what Elliot wants. Mr. Robot reaches down and takes over, moving slowly and purposefully. His palm is rough, and Elliot groans. It’s clear he wants this to last.

Elliot’s head is swimming; the sound of the water and their laboured breath blends together into deafening white noise that's almost— _almost_ —enough to drown out the horror he feels when he thinks about what's happening right now. Part of him is terrified that they’ll be interrupted—by another inmate, by a guard—but part of him doesn’t care. What would they see, anyways? 

Mr. Robot laughs. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asks. “Maybe they’d take pity on you and fuck you for real.”

Elliot whines in the back of his throat, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Won’t be alone for much longer,” Mr. Robot grunts.

“D-do it anyway,” Elliot says through gritted teeth, forcing the words out. He knows it’s not real—knows it’s fucked up—but there’s nothing he wants more than for Mr. Robot to fuck him.

Mr. Robot doesn’t need anymore encouragement. Elliot hisses when Mr. Robot releases his cock and brings a hand to Elliot’s mouth expectantly.

“Good boy,” Mr. Robot says when he spits.

He reaches down, sliding his fingers into Elliot’s ass and beginning to work him open. Elliot groans into Mr. Robot’s neck at the feeling. He hates how much he wants this.

“Do it already,” Elliot orders him, and for once, Mr. Robot doesn’t balk at the command; he hitches Elliot’s legs up higher around his waist and eases him down slowly onto his cock.

Elliot’s breath catches as Mr. Robot presses into him. It’s too much, yet not enough. He needs it to stop, but he wants more. He’s shaking all over as his fingers rake Mr. Robot’s flesh, desperate for something solid to steady himself, settling on Mr. Robot’s shoulders.

Mr. Robot senses Elliot’s turmoil. “Stop wasting your time trying to make up your mind. Let me worry about that.”

The dirty tile of the shower wall is cold against Elliot’s back, and he shivers. Mr. Robot is fucking Elliot with long, deep strokes that send his mind into disarray.

“Let it go, kid,” Mr. Robot says into Elliot’s ear. And what the fuck else can he do? Elliot moans, grinding his hips down to force Mr. Robot even deeper inside of him.

If anyone caught him, he wonders, what would they see? Him, alone, pressing himself up against the grimy stall, fingering his ass and moaning for the psychotic mirror image of his dead father.

Mr. Robot’s coarse stubble against his cheeks brings him back to the present and the _very-real-feeling_ cock inside of him. The angle is just right in this position, and every thrust hits his prostate directly, dragging a low, keening whine out of him.

“Fuck,” Elliot gasps. He can feel himself getting close, heat pooling in his cock. He’s aching for some kind of release from the pressure building deep inside of him, but when he reaches down to touch himself Mr. Robot bats his hand away.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls. Elliot grunts in frustration and kisses him hungrily. He whimpers pathetically as Mr. Robot starts to move faster.

Elliot’s face is burning from the effort of trying to keep quiet. He wants to shut his eyes but he knows Mr. Robot wouldn’t be happy if he did. Instead, he watches Mr. Robot’s face; watches his pink lips as they slacken and part to let out a stream of unintelligible moans and profanity.

Mr. Robot is close; Elliot knows that just as well as he knows that he won’t last much longer either. His eyes are intense, as he leans in close and cups Elliot’s face in one hand, bringing their foreheads together.

“See? You see, son?” he asks, voice hoarse and punctuated by sharp gasps as he fucks Elliot even harder. “We’re one and the same. Deep down we both want—both want the same thing. Fighting… Shit. Fighting gets us nowhere.”

Elliot shakes his head, not wanting it to be true. With each breath they take together he can almost feel what Mr. Robot feels: his own lips, chapped and wet; his skin under Mr. Robot’s nails; his legs wrapped around Mr. Robot’s hips, pulling him closer, deeper.

“That’s it kiddo,” Mr. Robot whispers in his ear. “Just let go.” 

He doesn’t mean for it to slip out; he tries to bite his tongue. But as he tips over the edge, he moans loudly—

“F-fuck—d… dad—”

Mr. Robot groans, slamming up into Elliot and cumming deep inside of him, hands gripping him tightly to hold him in place.

The orgasm that’s been building inside Elliot finally spills over; he finishes with a sharp cry, driving his hips down as Mr. Robot keeps fucking him with erratic strokes that leave him trembling and raw.

As they both finally still, Elliot rests his head on Mr. Robot’s shoulder. The shower is still going, though the water has long since run cold.

Elliot starts to say something—he’s not sure what—but the sound of the door makes them both freeze. Mr. Robot puts a hand over Elliot’s mouth and holds a finger to his lips.

The guard that comes in is shouting about lights out—shit, have they really been in there that long?—and Elliot hastily disentangles himself from Mr. Robot and turns to wash off. He can't quite bring himself to look Mr. Robot in the eye, but he catches a glimpse of his face—he looks somber, his expression pained. 

Elliot feels dizzy and feverish, but the icy water is soothing. He shoots a glance back over his shoulder as he steps out of the shower, but of course, Mr. Robot is nowhere to be found.


End file.
